


I want you.

by dorkpatroller



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, I promise!, Kind of a slow burn, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Some Wine Is Involved, but any and all sexual content is consensual, but i mean it's there just fyi, don't u worry about that, i think that's it but lmk if you feel like anything else needed to be tagged, maybe not healthy BUT consensual, self destructive thoughts too, sylvain's canon typical self destructive behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 01:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21420019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkpatroller/pseuds/dorkpatroller
Summary: Ashe knew when this all began that Sylvain wasn't ready to fall in love. He had his walls up, he was afraid. Breaking down those walls could kill a man who had been hurt so many times before. So Ashe committed to taking them down slowly. One brick at a time, until there was just enough room for him to slip inside and prove that not all hope is lost.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 27
Kudos: 221





	I want you.

The cathedral is eerily comforting. It’s the way the organ plays slow and rhythmically. The choir sometimes practices to one side of the pews that creak in a familiar, comfortable way when Ashe sits down. Not in a way that makes him worry they’ll break. In a way that reminds him that this same cathedral has been standing for hundreds of years. Thousands of people have come here to sit and pray and worship and even mourn. In a big room where he’s alone among other living people, the echoes of people long since passed are comforting. 

Ashe doesn't feel like he has the right to mourn. Maybe that's why he feels so hollow when he stands in front of the altar and whispers prayers. He loves Lonato so much it hurts, but he fought in the battle that killed him. 

_ “Stand down, Ashe. I must destroy these evil-doers by any means necessary!”  _

_ “Please surrender, Lonato! Whatever your reasons for doing this, we can still talk it out!”  _

The words keep buzzing around in his head like an itch on his brain, and no matter how he tries to scratch it out he won’t be able to stop hearing those words until he claws his own face off. Lonato, his adopted father, his  _ family _ told him to stand down. Maybe he should have. He didn’t know that this would happen. He didn’t know that Lonato would fight to his own death.

What was Lonato so passionate about? There are more questions than answers, but even as he struggled to convince him not to fight the church, even as Lonato directed his attacks at Ashe’s friends and Catherine’s knights, he never laid an unloving finger on Ashe.

He wouldn’t, of course. Lonato has loved Ashe like his own from the moment they met. Lonato loved him. Ashe betrayed him. 

He wants to throw up. His knees are shaking. How can he miss him so much, how can he love him so much, and still have fought against him? It’s not fair. Would Lonato forgive him, or did he die thinking that adopting Ashe was a mistake?

He startles when an arm bumps against his shoulder, and he turns and peers up to see Sylvain. He's not sure what he's doing here. They're friends, but it's awkward at best. Ashe doesn't belong around all of these nobles in his class. Lonato would tell him that he's his son, he deserves to be there but to treat them with respect where respect is due. Maybe he should take that advice to heart now. He deserves to be here.

Sylvain’s brother just died. More recently that Lonato, so recently it must be a fresh wound, but he doesn’t look nearly as torn up about it as he should. He’s hiding it. Ashe can tell. No one loses family and just smiles through it, even if they hated each other. Ashe uses his palm to wipe away some tears on his face. “S-Sylvain, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“I bumped into you,” Sylvain coos. “On purpose. I came to check on you.” 

To check on him? Why? Sylvain grabs his arm and despite his instinct to resist, he lets him drag Ashe to a pew and they sit. He folds his hands in his lap anxiously. He doesn’t know what they’re about to talk about, but he can tell it isn’t about girls for once. “I’ve never had someone love me like that.” 

Ashe’s brain stutters, trying to play catch up. Sylvain skipped the part of the conversation where he gives him context to what he’s talking about. “W-What?” 

“Like Lord Lonato loved you. My father has spent my whole life treating me like a bargaining chip, and my brother… well he hated me.” 

Ashe has no idea what's happening. Is Sylvain opening up like this because he's confused about how he should mourn? Is this a cry for help or a genuine attempt to make Ashe feel better? So far it's not working, certainly. "Sylvain, I…" 

“Hang on, Hang on. This isn’t a pity party for me. What I mean to say is, I can’t imagine how much it hurts. Miklan and I weren’t even close, but it hurts knowing that it was my fault. If I wasn’t here, he would have never turned out the way he did. He was right to hate me.” 

Ashe bubbles with frustration. This doesn’t make him feel better at  _ all,  _ and it can’t be good for Sylvain to think that way either. He feels like a pot simmering on the stove, threatening to boil. He doesn’t know very much about Sylvain, but Ingrid told him just a little bit so that everyone could understand why Sylvain wasn’t himself last month. His brother hurt him, abused him, and Sylvain may not be the most innocent man alive or anything, but he doesn’t deserve that. “He wasn’t right to take it out on you.” 

Sylvain puts up his hands like he’s deflecting a blow. He has this lopsided, trained smile on his face. “Look, it’s okay. What happened happened. But I guess what I’m saying is I feel bad, terrible, and we weren’t even close. So you must be devastated. I get it, I think. I know we’ve all sort of just let you do your own thing and mourn your own way, but maybe I should have said something sooner.” 

Ashe isn’t sure what Sylvain is saying. He doesn’t even think Sylvain knows what he’s saying. But he recognizes the gesture underneath this mess of a conversation. He can feel the unique warmth between them, and he can tell that he’s  _ trying.  _ He’s holding out his hand, metaphorically, so that he can offer support. 

  
Ashe won’t turn down the support. He nods his head and swipes at his eyes with his fingertips again. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I appreciate that… but just so you know… If you do need to talk more about him, or about anything…” 

“Thanks.” Sylvain lowers his hand. His smile is still there, but it seems hollow. Ashe wonders if all of his smiles are trained and practiced like this. Ashe wonders if he’s ever seen a real smile from him. “I don’t think there’s more to say, but I’ll know where to find you.” 

“Y-Yeah.” What else can Ashe say? Sylvain seems to be struggling with words just as much as Ashe is, anyway. There’s nothing to say except okay. The thing is, they just sit there in silence after that. Sylvain settles facing forward with his arms resting on his knees and his hands folded, maybe in prayer, in the space between them. Ashe stares at the floor and tries to sort through what just happened. 

Maybe he should cut Sylvain a little more slack. He doesn’t always act like a classic knight or something, but Ashe doesn’t feel like he’s acting like one himself either. They both deserve to feel the way they feel. So maybe there is one thing left to say. “Sylvain?” 

“Mm?” 

“I’m sorry for your loss, too.” And he stiffens just a little, but then he sighs it out in a half-broken laugh and nods his head. Ashe thinks he gets it. Ashe lost a father who loved him, and he lost a lifetime of happiness. Sylvain lost a _ what if.  _ What if he could have mended his relationship with his brother, after all these years? 

Maybe he wouldn’t have wanted to, but he can’t now even if he did. 

…

Ashe never has liked walking around the monastery at night. Thankfully there’s a curfew that keeps him safe and sound in his room when the sun fades away, but every now and then rules are meant to be broken. Tonight is one such night. He just needs to take a book back to the library, and there’s a little drop slot he can put it into. The late fee for the book wouldn’t normally matter to him, because if he were ever to exceed his allowance that Lonato sent him he wouldn’t be afraid to ask for more in exchange for completing a task for him. He’s always been careful with his money. One little late fee wouldn’t matter, except… 

Well, Ashe isn’t even sure what’s going to happen. His monthly allowances from Lonato will be gone, now, because Lonato has died. Granted Ashe rarely spent in excess; usually, he had funds leftover, but he’s worried about making it through the rest of the year on what he has. He doubts the church budgeted in Lonato’s surviving children when they seized his territory and assets. 

Maybe he's a little bitter, but he knows what Lonato did was wrong. Maybe. Sort of. Ugh! He just wishes he knew more. For now, he trusts the professor, and he trusts Lady Rhea not to let him starve. He'll just have to be more frugal than ever and be sure to keep tabs on his siblings so they don't go hungry or cold. He would sooner leave the academy and go back to a life of--well. He doesn't want to go back to that, he never dreamed he might have to, but he won't let his siblings go without. They're being taken care of for now, but what if that changes?

A chill makes his whole body shake and he’s not sure if it’s the wind on his way to the library or if it’s the idea of doing something like that again. He should be focusing on his studies. Ashe wanted to be a knight and Lonato paid for his tuition because he loved him. And he must have, he must truly have loved him, to have allowed him to attend this school knowing that he disagreed with the values of the church. He wanted to set Ashe up for success. It’s just hard to focus on that. He’s too busy trying to plan for the worst possible outcome to hope for the best.

“Ashe?” 

“Ah!” Ashe didn’t expect to be caught. It’s embarrassing that he yelps and it’s hard to fight his first instinct to run, but he manages not to bolt if only because a ghost probably wouldn’t call him by name. Besides, that sounded like, “Sylvain? Why are you..?” 

He’s just outside. Shouldn’t he be up in his dorm? Maybe he’s coming back from spending time on a date… but he tucks his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “I just needed some air. What’s that?” 

Ashe glances down at the book in his hands. “It’s, uh, just a book I borrowed from the library. It was due before tomorrow morning and I forgot, so… “

“Oh, I do that all the time,” Sylvain chuckles. “If it’s in the drop slot before they get there in the morning who are they to say you didn’t return it on time?” 

Ashe nods his head and he sways on his feet awkwardly. Sylvain turns and nudges Ashe’s arm like he did the other day. “I’ll walk with you?” 

“Alright.” 

They’re silent for a few steps before Sylvain starts chattering about anything at all, and Ashe finds that he’s glad to have the silence filled. 

…

“Seriously, never?” Sylvain asks. He’s situated on Ashe’s bed, picking at his nails before he turns his attention to gape at Ashe. “Not even a peck?” 

Ashe is at his desk and his face is burning so red it hurts. Sylvain ducked in here to hide from a girl and Ashe thinks he was  _ quite  _ the gentleman to let him in here despite having told him not to flirt around the way he does  _ more than once.  _ He’s just shy of hiding his face in his hands when he spins back around in his chair to face his homework instead of his companion. “Nevermind.” 

“Hey, don’t be like that. Come on, Asssshhhheeee,” Sylvain whines. Ashe finds he liked the sound of it more and more lately. They’d grown closer as friends. Obviously, for Ashe to be so willing to let him hide out in his room. Given an ounce of friendship, Ashe took it and ran with it, and he developed a crush the likes of which he’d never had before. It was easy, though. Sylvain liked women and as far as Ashe knew, no one else. Granted he seemed the optimistic type, but until Ashe had proof he could pretend his crush was a fool’s fantasy because Sylvain would never want a man. (He knows he’s setting himself up for a crisis when he undoubtedly sees Sylvain with a man someday, but that’s a problem for Future Ashe.) 

“Please don’t poke fun at me, Sylvain.” He tucks his elbows on the table and sets his face in his hands. He’s embarrassed, but he’s fine. He’s young! It’s perfectly normal not to have been kissed at his age. He’s only 16 and he spent the better part of his early life struggling. He hasn’t had much time for dating. 

“Hey, I wasn’t going to make fun of you,” Sylvain says. Ashe can hear the shuffle of him sitting up better on the bed. “I was going to offer to teach you how.” 

Ashe is mortified, and he’s so glad he’s facing away from Sylvain. “W-What?” He squeaks.

“So that you can impress whoever you want to kiss, one day. You know?” 

Ashe can’t think of anyone he wants to kiss except maybe  _ Sylvain,  _ so it would be sort of selfish to let Sylvain teach him. Worst of all is that his head is already imagining it. Sylvain’s lips at his neck, the corner of his jaw, the press of them against his own. He’s imagined it  _ a few times  _ when he’s alone in his bed. He’s not doing it now. He shoves the thoughts aside. 

Sylvain stands up and comes to lean against the desk, where Ashe is forced to glance up at his eyes. He’s  _ so handsome.  _ It’s no wonder those eyes can get women to fall for him too. The problem is those women are a blatant front Sylvain is putting up to protect himself, and Ashe doesn’t want to be lumped in with them. 

His playful smile is so easy to fall for, but Ashe shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be proper.” 

“Why not? I really can teach you.” 

“Because you’re…”

“Good looking?” 

Ashe sputters. “N-Nobility. And I’m…” 

“Cute?”

His face is burning so hot he thinks he might melt. He pulls his eyes away from Sylvain’s. “Nothing. I’m nothing special.” 

“It’s not like anyone would know,” Sylvain says, and Ashe deflates. He knows it was silly of himself… but he’d hoped that Sylvain might argue.  _ Yes, you’re someone special.  _ And he hears the tone of Sylvain’s voice change, but it’s too little too late. “Hey, don’t be so down on yourself. You know what I think about nobility.” 

Yes, he does, actually. So he comes up with a different excuse. “I want my first kiss to be real.” 

Sylvain smiles, at least, so Ashe knows some of the tension will leave the room. “Alright. That’s a better answer. But you could at least practice on a pillow or something.” 

“D-Do people really do that?” 

…

He’s never had more than a few sips of wine before. It’s because Lonato always offered, but Ashe didn’t think he’d like the bitter taste of it. And he didn’t. The silky red wine was pretty to the eye but dry and bitter on Ashe’s tongue. It complimented the food, but not well enough that Ashe ever wanted more than a sip.

The students at the academy are allowed to do whatever they want, essentially. If they want to buy wine at the market no one will stop them. Ashe doesn’t spend money on anything he doesn’t have to now, but he saw Sylvain bring back that bottle of wine. He shared it with a few of their classmates, late one evening. Ashe was just in the classroom studying, but Sylvain dragged him over to sit by the fire with Felix, Dimitri, and Ingrid.

He feels out of place here. He’s seated on a cushion by the fire between Sylvain, the man he’s been crushing on for weeks now, and Dimitri,  _ the crown prince.  _ He doesn’t belong here. Sylvain struggles with the cork on the bottle before Felix rolls his eyes and takes it from him to open properly. He gets it on the first try, which makes Sylvain whine and Dimitri chuckle. Ashe thinks it’s a little funny, but he’s too nervous to laugh. 

Sylvain pours generous cups for his friends, but when he pulls one for Ashe he puts up his hands. “Ah, actually, I don’t like wine. Thank you anyway!” 

“You don’t like wine? That’s not even a thing,” Sylvain says with a chuckle. “What kind of wine don’t you like? There are a lot.” 

That’s a fair point. Ashe only ever tried a few sips of that red wine Lonato loved so much. He frowns. “The wine I tried was bitter.” 

“Well, that’s perfect. You’ll love this. It’s disgustingly sweet.” Felix shoves his cup into Ashe’s hands and makes a face. A moment later he makes a swift motion to stand. “I should be training anyway.” 

“Come on, Fel, we’re just hanging out!” Sylvain says. Felix shakes his head and wanders off. He’s never been one to socialize, so Ashe can’t blame him. Sylvain watches him go and then turns his eyes back to Ashe. “He’s right, anyway. If you don’t like it, you just haven’t tried the right kind of wine, then. This one is sweet. It’s a white wine. Just  _ try it _ and if you hate it you don’t have to drink it.” 

Ashe doesn't hate it, is the problem. When he tastes it, it tastes like peaches and bubbles pleasantly against his tongue. This isn't bitter at all, and he barely tastes the hint of alcohol in the back of his throat. So he stays. Most of the things Sylvain talks about with them while they drink are about old times. But after a few minutes, the attention turns to a more pressing topic. 

The ball is coming up, next moon. Everyone is already abuzz talking about who they’ll take with them. “I was thinking a girl on each arm,” Sylvain jokes. Ingrid’s eyes are daggers pointed at his chest.

“Don’t you dare,” she says. Dimitri chuckles again, and this time Ashe thinks it sounds warmer. “At least have the decency to commit to one date.” 

“If you were to find two women who were  _ willing _ to be worn on each arm, I suppose you would have earned the right,” Dimitri says. Sylvain laughs. It’s like… fireworks. Ashe’s heart stutters in time with each one. His laugh is so easy and unrestrained… is that the alcohol or the company of his good friends? He smiles too, and his cheeks turn pink. He’s sure it’s the second glass of wine getting to him and not the dimples Sylvain has when his smile isn’t forged. 

"Thank you!" Sylvain booms. 

Ingrid thwaps the back of her hand against Dimitri's arm, but he acts like it didn't hurt at all. Finally, she says, "What about you, Ashe? Will you take someone to the ball?" 

  
  


“I can’t dance,” Ashe says, his typical excuse. What he means deep down is  _ I have unwarranted feelings for Sylvain and I’m not sure I want to see him at the ball with  _ one _ girl on his arm, let alone two.  _

“I’ll teach you,” Sylvain offers. “It’s second nature to me. I bet we could teach you the basic steps in an evening.” 

Ashe smiles--to himself, he hopes. The idea of being whisked away with Sylvain to dance is a promising one, but… he couldn’t. “I wouldn’t want to impose. Besides, I don’t have anyone to go with either.” 

“You have nearly an entire moon to find a partner,” Dimitri says. “Perhaps I can spare some time to give you a lesson as well?”

“Yes, so will I,” Ingrid says. “In fact, I would be happy to teach you all of the steps. Sylvain and Dimitri are much too tall, you would have to follow instead of lead.” 

“Ah, you’re right. If you intend to take a girl, you’ll want to lead,” Dimitri says. Ingrid nods her head. 

“It’s settled, then.” 

_ No.  _ Ashe doesn’t want to take a girl and he doesn’t want to learn to dance with Ingrid. If he had to learn to dance at all he would have preferred Sylvain. He wouldn’t mind following instead of leading if he could follow Sylvain. 

He’s too afraid to say no, so he nods his head yes and finishes his wine.

…

Ingrid is a competent teacher. Ashe is actually thankful for the lesson. Christophe told him once that when he was older he would teach him how to waltz, but obviously, he never had the chance. Dancing around the classroom with Ingrid is fun. Once they get down the basics it’s just a matter of practice, practice, practice. He manages not to step on her toes more than once, and she doesn’t scold him when he does. Her hand is soft in his, and she shows him just where to put his hand on her waist. “It is easy to relax your arm and stray lower, but it is inappropriate to touch a lady’s hip without her consent.” 

Well, Ashe still doesn’t have a partner so he doubts he’ll be needing anyone’s consent. But if nothing else maybe Ingrid will spare him a dance at the ball to put his practice to good work. 

“That’s not fair,” Sylvain says. Ashe didn’t even know he was here, so he stumbles in his footwork until Ingrid corrects him and they carry on. He wasn’t planning on having an audience for this, but Sylvain settles down in one of the classroom chairs and watches them. “Sometimes a girl wants you to be a little flirty and doesn’t say it with her mouth so much. If you’re teaching him how consent works you have to teach him how body language works too.” 

“I think I know what body language--” 

“Don’t listen to a word he says,” Ingrid huffs.

“No, it’s true. No means no,  _ obviously _ , but sometimes someone is telling you  _ yes _ with their eyes. If they’re too shy to say it, sometimes you just have to look closer.” 

“If a woman wanted to be kissed she would say as much, Sylvain.” 

“I’m totally not saying to kiss someone who doesn’t want to be kissed. I’m just saying to look for  _ signs.”  _

Ashe watches Ingrid step out of their dance and she folds her arms. He can't help himself from asking since all she's doing is staring with disapproval. "What signs?" 

“Glad you asked! You can always tell when someone wants to be kissed when they make a lot of extra eye contact. Sometimes they’ll stare at your mouth while you talk. If they’re shorter than you they might tilt their head up just right…” 

“If a person is shorter than you--which is almost everyone, Sylvain--they would have to tilt their head up just to  _ talk _ to you. That’s not an invitation to kiss them.” Ingrid huffs. Ashe tucks the advice from Sylvain away for a rainy day fantasy. 

…

Oh, he knew he didn’t want to come to this stupid ball and he should have trusted his gut. He doesn’t have a date, which didn’t bother him at first. He doesn’t mind being a wallflower because he’s really not confident in his dancing skills anyway. They’re still unsteady steps. The problem isn’t his lack of dance partner, of course. The problem is that Future Ashe arrives way sooner than Present Ashe is ready for. 

That is, Sylvain doesn’t show up with two girls on his arm. He shows up dancing with one  _ boy,  _ and he’s cute. Oh, he’s cute. He’s got this brown hair with a little curl to it, he’s sort of slim--not unlike Ashe. He’s shorter than Sylvain by a whole head. Also like Ashe. 

Actually, he doesn’t look like Ashe at all, but Ashe is just so focused on thinking about how he wants to be the one dancing with Sylvain that he could scream. He wasn’t supposed to  _ actually  _ like boys. Obviously, Ashe knew that it was a possibility, hell he even expected it, but he didn’t want to  _ see it.  _ Now he has to cope with  _ jealousy _ when previously he could sweep it under the  _ self-pity  _ rug and act like it was impossible. Now it isn’t about Sylvain not liking men, so Ashe can’t hide behind that excuse on the list of reasons why Sylvain doesn’t like  _ him.  _

While he slips quietly away from the party, Ashe has to admit that the list of reasons why Sylvain doesn’t like him is pretty short. It doesn’t have to do with him being a boy or even with him being a commoner--Sylvain really  _ doesn’t  _ care about things like that. It’s just that Ashe is, well… plain. Right? It must be that. He’s never struck his fancy. That boy he was with at the ball was  _ attractive.  _ His hair was rich like chocolate and his eyes were like honey and he looked strong and he had a charming, crooked smile. Ashe isn’t like that. 

He's familiar with the story of Cinderella, and how she was always covered in soot and nothing special, and she found true love. Well, she sort of struggled to find it, but in the end, she got there, even though she was nothing special either. 

But Ashe is a teenager and this isn’t true love, it’s a dumb crush. He tucks his hands into his armpits while he walks just so he can fight the cold. He’s just walking, but then he finds himself at the Goddess Tower and he lingers. What if… he makes a wish? Does it work when it’s just one boy, and not a boy and a girl? Maybe it doesn’t. For a minute he wonders if he should even go up there. It’s supposed to be off-limits. Lonato would scold him for sneaking somewhere without permission. Ashe… doesn’t mean any disrespect to his late father, but he decides to sneak anyway. 

The staircase up the tower curls around it, and he drags his chilled fingertips along the stone walls. He can hear the echo of each step he takes. When he reaches the top there’s a balcony, and he leans against the stone frame of it and thinks about what wish he should make. A part of him fantasizes about Sylvain showing up. Maybe he saw him leave the ball alone, dropped his cute boyfriend like a hot potato, and rushed to follow him. He knows that isn’t true, of course. Wishing for Sylvain is a waste of a perfectly good wish, anyway. If he only gets one, he should make it count. 

_ I wish for the people I love to be safe. _

…

“I come bearing gifts.” 

“I thought you were hiding from a girl again?” Ashe asks. He looks up from his spot on his bed, where he’s reading, and Sylvain locks the door behind him. He said he needed to hide, but he does have a backpack on his shoulder. 

“I am, but I came prepared for once.” 

“You planned to hide from a girl?” 

“Sometimes you can see these things coming.” Sylvain chuckles. “I brought you a different wine to try. This one is sweet too, don’t worry.” 

Oh. Drinking alone in his room with Sylvain is very different than drinking with their friends in public. Ashe must look as uncertain as he feels because Sylvain hums soothingly. “You don’t have to drink much.” 

He does. This wine is scented with strawberries and he thinks he likes it even more than the last. Sylvain has good taste in wine, he thinks. He drinks more than he means to, and Sylvain drinks plenty too, and after some time they’re happily seated on Ashe’s bed together, empty cups in hand and leaning back against the wall. Ashe slumps onto Sylvain’s shoulder. The last time they drank he didn’t feel giddy or tipsy like this. He drank ever so slightly too much. Just enough that he feels like it’s safe to lay his head on Sylvain like this. “Do you hide in here because you know girls never come here?” Ashe isn’t known for drawing crowds of attractive women, after all. 

“Nah. I hide in here because I like you,” Sylvain says. Ashe smiles at his empty cup. He means he likes him as a friend, but it makes his heart and face warm up just the same. “Hey, do you want more?” Sylvain asks. He scoots away from Ashe, taking his comfortable shoulder with him, and he pulls the cup from Ashe’s hand. He sets both of their cups on the table beside Ashe’s bed, actually… and then he stops. 

He takes a few seconds to just stare at Ashe. Ashe stares back, and he's surprised when Sylvain crawls closer to him on the bed. Ashe almost feels like he should retreat, like he should back up into the wall, but there's nowhere to go and he doesn't actually want to. It's just that stare is powerful. 

He turns his focus to Sylvain's lips instead of his eyes. They're not even that far away. Remember when he said he wanted his first kiss to mean something? He was an idiot. He should have let Sylvain teach him to kiss right then because then he could say his first kiss was with someone he cared about so deeply. Maybe they won't be destined to be together, but at least he could have kissed him just that once. 

He thinks about the signs that someone wants to be kissed. Maybe if he does that now, it will work? He tilts his eyes back to Sylvain’s. Why is he so close anyway? Maybe he also wants to be kissed. Ashe doesn’t really mean to bat his eyes at him, but when he tilts his head ever so slightly… 

He gets what he wants. 

Sylvain’s lips mash into his so hard it’s startling, and Ashe gasps. He never catches his breath again after that moment. He’s just trying to figure out what to do, how to keep up with the way Sylvain’s lips move, the way his tongue flicks past Ashe’s lip, the way they topple back onto Ashe’s pillow. He’s going to drown.

Sylvain slides his hand through Ashe’s hair, down his waist and settles it on his hip and he thinks  _ Ingrid was so wrong.  _ Ashe didn’t say a word about wanting this but he really, really does. He wants it so badly it hurts, and he’s so, so happy that Sylvain is here, kissing him, and not out with some girl. 

It ends way too soon, though. Sylvain pulls himself away, drops his forehead to rest on top of Ashe’s, and he mutters, “Guess I got carried away with the wine, huh? I’m sorry, Ashe.” 

“I-It’s alright,” Ashe says. It’s so alright. It’s more than alright. Sylvain slips out for the night after that, though, and Ashe doesn’t think to say  _ wait, please, I actually wanted you to kiss me. _

…

Ashe knows that it’s a bad idea before they even do it. After training, after a bath, he suggests it to blow off any leftover steam. Ashe doesn’t think he’s got any steam built up, but he’s got a  _ lot  _ of sexual tension instead. He knows it’s a terrible plan. It sounds exactly like the more erotic parts of a novel. They’re just friends, nothing else. They’re just doing it for fun. Mutually beneficial. 

But Ashe thinks he’s damn near close to falling in love with Sylvain, and being  _ just friends _ who have sex will probably kill him. He also thinks that kissing Sylvain again, letting him walk Ashe backward until he’s boxed in by his arms against the door and pushing off of the platforms of his feet to chase Sylvain’s lips, is the greatest decision he’s ever made. 

Ashe is setting himself up for heartbreak, right now. He’s going to have to face the fact that Sylvain is afraid. He’s afraid of falling in love, he’s afraid of being in a real relationship, and he’s afraid of breaking his father’s rules just as much as he’s afraid of following them. This won’t ever be something real. He’s just going to be another knot in the string of broken hearts Sylvain leaves behind him. 

That’s a problem for Future Ashe. 

  
  


.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

  
  


If Sylvain has one regret that’s lingered on his mind these past five years, it’s that he was so afraid. He looks back on his time spent with Ashe and thinks he took advantage of his kindness and the obvious feelings he had for him. He’d like to say he was a dumb kid. He was afraid of what his father would think of him, chasing after someone he had feelings for when that someone would be no benefit to the Gautier line. In fact, Sylvain would be the end of it, if he chased his feelings for Ashe. 

He’d like to say he was a dumb kid who didn’t understand his own feelings and that he’s a grown man now, smarter and stronger and less afraid. He’d be lying, though, because that regret is still lingering when he looks at Ashe across the dining hall now. With his cheek resting in his hand and grinning about whatever it is Mercedes and Annette are telling him. 

He thought about sending him a letter, once. He wrote it up and everything. He told him how he felt, like maybe there was more to it than just being friends, and that he wanted to be something more. Then he crumpled it up, and then for good measure, he burnt it. Even still, writing it was soothing. Saying the things he was afraid to say out loud, putting a real feeling behind it… that was nice. 

Maybe, Sylvain thinks while he watches those pretty, minty eyes light up. First in shock, and then a dusting of pink buds across the freckles on the bridge of his nose, and then he covers his mouth and laughs into his hand. What are they talking about? Goddess above, he looks good. His hair is longer, he’s a little taller, a little leaner, and he’s got a little more of an angle to his jaw.

He’s going to make sure he doesn’t regret anything anymore. He’s not going to let them sit here, trapped as just friends who have sex. He’s not going to do that to Ashe again when he knows Ashe likes him, and he knows he cares about Ashe too. 

…

He’s a horrible man, and he doesn’t deserve happiness. It rings in the back of his mind every day, but louder than ever while he lets Ashe push him back into the sheets in his room. It’s just the two of them here. The world around them melts and bleeds into a blur, and all Sylvain wants to see, all he knows  _ how to see _ is a glimpse of those pretty pale eyes and a splattering of freckles. 

He's a terrible man but with every press of Ashe's lips along his collar and chest, with every slow, wonderful thrust, with every gasp that is pulled from Sylvain's throat, he thinks maybe it's okay. Ashe deserves better, but he tells him he wants him now. He trails his hand along Sylvain's hip without judgment, and when he pulls his hips back too far Sylvain hooks his ankles behind his back to drag him closer. 

If it’s because he wants him to keep going or if it’s because he’s afraid to let this one good thing go is still up for debate, but he gets what he wants either way.

Sylvain is a terrible man because he promised himself he would ask Ashe out. Really. He’s not the kid he was before, committing to someone doesn’t have to be a lie. He promised himself that before he invited Ashe to kiss him he would invite him to hold his hand. 

It doesn’t matter now, because while Ashe plants kisses and love bites like roses along Sylvain’s jaw, he’s got his hand curled into his.

Where their fingers are joined is Sylvain’s salvation. Ashe squeezes tighter when Sylvain’s hand flexes.  _ I’m here. We’re together. You’re safe. _

But when they’re through and Ashe lounges lazily on Sylvain’s chest, and Sylvain drags his fingers through the strands of starlight that make up his hair, he hates himself. His breath is uneven, his heart is racing, and it’s because they’re at war and they could die tomorrow and even that isn’t enough to drive him to say how he feels. 

…

Sylvain meets his siblings for the first time, and it’s unexpected. They show up at the monastery in a rush, being chased by a few stray bandits. Sylvain and Ingrid are the ones who spot them: a couple teenagers being harassed. Only one of them is armed, the older of the two. She’s haphazardly waving a sword she so clearly doesn’t know how to use. 

The bandits are easily disposed of and Ingrid is checking over the boy while Sylvain approaches the girl. She’s holding her arm and he’s prepared to heal whatever sprain she may have had… but he hesitates. 

It’s the way her silvery bangs fall past her eyes and the color they catch in the evening light. She peers at him anxiously and he can’t help but ask, “Are you Kayleigh?” Her eyes grow rounder and he can’t believe this is Ashe’s sister. 

He knows so much more about Ashe’s family than he ever thought would matter. Part of him was always a little jealous that he had such a strong bond with his siblings. The other part sort of thought they were made up. Obviously he knew it wasn’t true but she’s so real now, and she looks so much like him, that Sylvain almost doesn’t know what to say. 

She’s quiet another moment before she drops her shy act and smirks. “Are you… Sylvain?”

Oh. While it was like second nature for him to know Ashe’s sister… he doesn’t expect her to know him as well. A giggle bubbles up her throat like tinkling bells. “You’re so  _ tall!  _ Do you have to bend down to kiss him?”

“W-what?”

“Oh, please. Ashe talks about you so much, then tries to say you’re just friends. As if. You’re his boyfriend, right?”

His heart stops right then in his chest, and a piece of him wilts because he has to say, "No." 

He doesn’t want to say no. The startled look on her face and the blush that rises across it shortly after makes him mourn. He could have told her yes. He didn’t need Ashe’s sister to tell him Ashe cares about him. He knows if he just  _ asks _ that Ashe will say yes. It’s not Ashe he’s worried about. It’s himself. 

His own hesitation to ask is just a testament to his inabilities. He’s so afraid to risk treating Ashe the way he treated everyone else that he’s refusing either of them a chance at success. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” she laughs, nervously. “I just—wow. Please don’t tell Ashe I said that. He’s already going to be mad we’re here.”

And he is. When Ashe and Byleth meet them at the gates, wondering what took them so long to get back from their watch, Sylvain has never seen so many shades of emotion cross Ashe’s face at once. Shock, awe, terror, and ultimately anger. He lets him have time alone with his siblings because it’s none of his business if he wants to grind them into dust, but he has trouble imagining that Ashe would lay an unloving hand on anyone, especially them.

So when Ashe turns up later, Sylvain wonders what actually happened. “Did you dump them in the woods?” He jokes as if his own brother didn’t  _ actually _ do that to him in the icy pines of Gautier. But Ashe doesn’t know that particular story, and he startles but he laughs, assuming it’s an innocent joke. 

“Seteth helped me arrange a place for them to stay here, with the staff. Kayleigh said they want to help fight, but I think they were just stir crazy.” Ashe rubs his arms. “She’s pretty angry that I won’t let her come to battle, but she’s too young. They both are, and… I don’t think I could stand to lose anyone else.”

Just like that Ashe leans his weight against Sylvain's arm. It looks like he's comforting himself, but does he know how much Sylvain needs these casual touches? Does he know they're the only thing stoking the hopeful fire in his heart? Maybe one day, these touches say. It isn't too late. And, as if Ashe reads his mind and wants to say something just as comfortable too, he says, "I couldn't stand to lose you, either." 

Because he cares. It’s not even a confession because Sylvain already knew, but because it’s delightfully hidden he can pretend it isn’t something more than friendship so he doesn’t have to panic just yet. As long as Ashe doesn’t say  _ I love you  _ before Sylvain can come to terms with  _ I want to imagine a future for myself.  _

He does. Oh, he does. He always thought there were two options, two branches to his path. Either he'd ultimately live and die as nothing but a stud to pass on a crest with a wife of his father's choosing… or he would fight in this war, put all of himself into it, and maybe never come back from it. Now and then he starts to weave a daydream out of Ashe's smiles and the butterflies bouncing around in his lungs. Now and then he thinks there might be a third option, but that option won't be real any time soon. Marrying for love, and not for crests or nobility… Maybe if he comes out of this war alive, he'll see the day.

…

Sylvain throws himself into every battle the same way. He’s cavalry, he’s on the front lines, and he cuts men down with the same lance that killed his brother. A part of him wonders if Miklan’s soul ever left this lance, or if it’s swimming around in this crest stone. Is he trapped there? He’d like to think that his soul can rest, but he doesn’t believe it. He thinks his own soul will be damned, and if he’s going down he’s sure Miklan did too. 

He has to keep a close eye on Ingrid and Felix. Ingrid is equipped for the front lines but an easy target to archers when she’s riding a white beacon of a pegasus. Felix is just too stubborn to sit back and wait for the second wave. He always charges ahead. The three of them have a good routine of watching each other’s backs. 

The one person he rarely has to worry about in battle is Ashe. He’s sneaky and smart and fights at a range. If he were to spare a glance he would see him perched in the branches of a tree, hidden behind the leaves and precisely sniping down enemies from his cover. Ashe doesn’t make impulsive decisions in battle. He calculates. He thinks about his responsibilities to his deceased family, and to his living siblings that need him more than anyone. 

Ashe doesn’t make impulsive decisions in battle, and that’s the truth that Sylvain would have believed prior to this particular battle. 

His armor takes most of the blow when he’s thrown from his horse. The sharp rocks and gravel don’t bother him, but the pain of all of that metal slamming into his back does. The way he knocks his head does. The enemy soldier standing over him with a heavy ax in hand will probably slice his head clean off, so at least the throbbing will go away when he’s dead. 

He doesn’t slice his head off though. A blur of blue fabric and leather armor darts in. He comes in low, and Sylvain realizes it’s because he’s snatching up a weapon from the ground. A lance.  _ His lance.  _ Ashe scoops it up and catches it in the crook of the ax. The man startles, the ax goes flying, and he retreats before Ashe can skewer him. 

And thank the goddess for that. All of the pain Sylvain is in vanishes, all the weakness in his bones melts away. It’s because all he can think of in that moment is fumbling to his feet and ripping the lance out of Ashe’s hands.  _ “What are you thinking?!”  _

Ashe doesn’t resist, of course. He lets go of the weapon and stares up at Sylvain with big eyes. “S-Sylvain, he was--you could have--” 

“This will  _ kill you.”  _ Sylvain nearly screams it. Ashe flinches, but he doesn’t move. He just accepts the scolding as if he deserves it. He doesn’t. He saved Sylvain’s life, he doesn’t deserve to be screamed at like this, but Sylvain… All he can see is black, demonic tendrils smothering Miklan. He can so vividly remember his screams, his struggles, the way it pushed into his skin and his throat and his eyes and smothered the life out of him so that it could create a monster. 

Miklan was a monster of a person. He deserved that fate. Deep down, deep, deep down, Sylvain knows that. He picked up the Lance of Ruin and he took innocent lives with it, and it consumed him. But the idea of it ever,  _ ever _ happening again shakes Sylvain to his core--and the images are already burned into his brain. Ashe would be punished simply for not having a crest and trying to save a life. The darkness would curl around his neck and choke out the last bit of unwarranted sunshine in Sylvain’s world, and he’d be gone forever. He’d be nothing more than a monster, and it would be Sylvain’s responsibility to cut him down. 

He drops the lance at his feet. It clatters and twitches like it has a life of its own. Ashe keeps staring at him. Sylvain squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “This will kill you,” he says again, weaker. Maybe about the lance, or maybe of himself. 

Byleth shouts and Ashe hesitantly runs away from Sylvain.

…

Ashe didn’t seek him out after the battle. Sylvain didn’t look for Ashe at dinner. The silence hanging over Sylvain is heavy. He knows he needs to apologize for lashing out. Ashe was just protecting him. He did what he had to do with the resources available to him. 

Sylvain hasn’t stopped thinking about Ashe dissolving into a beast of ruin yet. Every time he blinks he sees it in his mind’s eye. He thinks about Miklan’s soul swimming around in the crest stone, and he wonders if Ashe’s would have too. He would never want that. Ashe should never be anywhere near Miklan, dead or alive.

He told himself he would just take a few minutes to think in his tent, but then he doesn’t leave it. He stays, curled up under a blanket, and he wonders. 

Does Ashe know how Sylvain feels about him? Maybe he does. Maybe he’s known all along, and that’s why he’s so confident when they’re together. Maybe the most ironic thing about Sylvain’s fear of committing is that he already has, did long ago, but he’s just too chicken to say the words. 

Does Ashe know that when Sylvain screamed at him, snarled and growled like a monster himself, it was because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing him?

He must… because the flap of Sylvain’s tent opens and Ashe ducks inside. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t say anything, he just sits down on his knees beside Sylvain’s head. “I’m so--” 

“Don’t,” Sylvain croaks. He doesn’t want Ashe to apologize. He didn’t do anything wrong. 

“I didn’t want to scare you so badly,” Ashe says anyway. He reaches out and brushes his fingers through Sylvain’s bangs. “It hadn’t crossed my mind to think about the repercussions of using your lance, all I thought about was…” 

“I know.” Sylvain sighs and sits up. When he’s facing Ashe he feels like he has to look away from his eyes. He combs his own hand through his bangs instead, tugging gently at the roots just to feel anything at all. “I’m sorry I lost it.” 

Ashe just stares at him… and when Sylvain finally manages to meet his gaze Ashe pushes himself into his arms. Into his lap. He stands on his knees and hugs Sylvains head down until it’s tucked into the crook of Ashe’s neck… And they just breathe. 

They exist. 

Sylvain closes his eyes and takes slow, slow breaths. He thinks about how Ashe smells just as minty as he looks. He thinks about how warm and real he is when he’s in his arms. He thinks about nothing else. Just Ashe. 

He might really be in love, and it hurts more than anything he’s ever felt.

…

When Byleth and Dimitri exit the throne room victorious, the entire army is cheering. Ashe puts the toe of his boot into the stirrup of the saddle on Sylvain's horse. He grips the saddle horn with one hand, but when he hoists himself up he loops his other arm around Sylvain's neck. Their lips meet in the middle for a kiss. 

Right there in public. In front of the army and their friends and the goddess. Ashe’s lips are chapped and salty with sweat, and he smells like iron and blood from the battle, but Sylvain’s heart has never been lighter.

… 

Ashe looks like he belongs to Gautier territory. Sylvain watches him, warily, from where he’s perched in the window seat of Sylvain’s bedroom. The moonlight pours over his bare shoulder and dribbles all the way down to his feather-light fingertips. It catches on his eyes like the minty evergreens outside. He looks like he could melt into the frosty landscape and bring a beautiful, powerful new meaning to snow angels. 

Ashe looks like he belongs to the snow and the pines and the white-tailed deer who roam the estate grounds. He looks like the day he was born and every breath, every gasp, every laugh that has passed his thin lips since then led to this moment: seated in Sylvain’s window, with Sylvain’s robe falling off of his naked shoulder, just existing as if he might bleed into the night sky. 

He might look even more perfect if he were wearing a smile, but his lips are turned down. He focuses his attention on the stars, on the scenery, anywhere but on Sylvain. His eyes are glazed with starlight and worry and  _ calculation.  _

Sylvain put that look in his eyes. He tore away the blush and the breathy chuckles and Ashe’s slim fingers curled up in red hair. It was only minutes ago. Surely only ten or fifteen. It feels like only dazed seconds. Sylvain’s heart is still racing from the feeling of their breath mingling and their hips moving in sync…

Or perhaps not. Sylvain has shared that aspect of himself with Ashe since they were practically just children, unaware of the coming war. He’s used to the taste of candied mint on Ashe’s tongue, or the sound of his voice breaking with need when he’s pushed back into a door. He’s had Ashe’s body for years. He’s had his friendship for years. But he told himself that was all there is, that was all it ever could be, and he knew it was wrong all along. 

When his father passed away and Sylvain accepted the title of Margrave Gautier, he was sure of only one thing: The next marriage proposal from some greedy noble house hoping to secure a crest would be thrown directly into the fireplace. 

Needless to say, he hadn't expected it to be Ashe, dragging his fingertips soothingly along Sylvain's scalp while they were coming down from such an intimate high. Ashe had only just arrived to visit a few hours before. 

Sylvain expected a proposal from a noble house that lost a lot of resources during the war. He expected a house struggling with crests in their bloodline. He supposes he got exactly what he expected to some degree. 

House Gaspard was only just recently awarded to Ashe. The residents of Castle Gaspard were lost without their Lord and between that and the war, Ashe could barely even hold the shreds of it together. He told Sylvain once that he had to sneak into the castle and loot his own home, just to take back what was left of his memories of his father and older brother. 

Dimitri awarded him his family’s territory back, so Ashe has been tireless in his efforts to maintain it. He has the financial means for the most part and the support of what’s left of Lonato’s people… but little authority. He was never trained or taught how to inherit such a title. Just because he has it now certainly doesn’t mean that this land won’t be swept up and absorbed by another territory while it’s still fragile and weak. 

By all means, securing a marriage and uniting territories with Gautier wouldn't be the easiest choice, but it certainly isn't a bad one. Sylvain's family never did go under the way many other noble houses did. He has a military. He has money. He has a sought-after crest. It isn't absurd for Ashe to make such a proposal. 

But, well, Sylvain tries to remind himself, that isn’t what happened. This wasn’t a well-penned letter with a wax seal and a scent of perfume. There is no proposition for him to throw into the hearth. It was just Ashe’s breathless grin, staring up from beneath Sylvain, fingers caught in his hair and another hand braced on his bicep, and he said, “I love you. Won’t you marry me?” 

His tone was so bold. He didn’t stutter or sound nervous… it was just his blissful, beautiful smile and a request he seemed so sure he would be granted. A request that Sylvain had mentally prepared to reject from anyone else. 

So, impulsively, Sylvain did exactly what he planned all along. He said, “What? No!” Then Ashe’s smile dissolved like snow doused with warm water. 

So there he is. Sitting in the window seat. Wearing Sylvain’s robe. Threatening to blend into the scenery behind him, until Sylvain can't tell him it isn’t his fault. “Hey,” Sylvain croaks. He’s still in bed. The fire is dying but the heavy fur blankets are comforting and warm. Ashe startles, and it’s because he was losing himself to the landscape, but when he turns to Sylvain he looks like a statue or a painting. He looks numb, and there aren't any tears in his eyes, but a track stained down his cheek.

He tried to hide them. 

“I’m really sorry,” Sylvain starts. The words feel empty even to himself. Is he sorry? He must be. He hates the feeling’s sitting so heavy in his stomach right now. He hates seeing Ashe look so broken.

“P-Please don’t apologize,” Ashe looks down at the sash of the robe. He twists it nervously in his fingers. 

Sylvain is sorry he panicked. He’s sorry he’s always been a flight risk when it comes to matters of the heart. But is he sorry he said no? It was a poorly timed proposal at best. Ah, but it is actually perfect. He was comfortable and warm and breathing in the syrupy waves of afterglow. 

Ashe asked him to marry him because he loves him. Not because Gaspard is small and weak. Not because he needs Sylvain’s assets. Ashe’s feelings date back much further than that. 

“You’ve always said this was casual. Really, it was silly of me to ask. I just hope things can stay the way they are?” 

Oh, Ashe. He’s holding it together on the outside, but his eyes are such an open window into his heart. They say that it’s better to have loved and lost, but Sylvain can’t even count everything Ashe has lost on one hand. He doesn’t want to hurt him. It’s just that he said  _ I love you.  _

Sylvain has spent forever now postponing when he would commit his feelings to words. For this exact reason: he was afraid he would say the wrong thing. He was afraid Ashe wouldn’t believe him, or that he would ruin it somehow. And he did. He said the wrong thing, and he ruined it. Isn’t it scary to be in love? Shouldn’t Ashe have been nervous this whole time as well? 

"Sylvain," Ashe suddenly rises from his seat. His body is met with a halo of moonlight. Maybe this is it. Maybe Ashe will fade into the stars that shimmer on his cheeks, and the last thing Sylvain will do or say is telling him that he won't marry him. 

But he doesn’t melt or dissolve. He walks to the edge of the bed, settles his knee against it, and he uses the sleeve of the robe to wipe tears off Sylvain’s cheeks. He didn’t even know he was crying. 

“Please don’t cry. Really, we can just pretend it never happened. It wasn’t very proper of me anyway.” 

Is that what Sylvain wants? Ashe’s offer to resume pretending is tempting, but it’s pointless. They can act like it never happened on the outside, but Ashe already said he loves him, and that curse can’t be undone. Ashe settles down to sit beside Sylvain and breathes out a shaky slow sigh. “Should I go?” 

Sylvain shakes his head no. He doesn’t want Ashe to  _ go.  _ What if he leaves before Sylvain can sift through his muddled up head and find the explanation he needs? “No, don’t. Just… let me…”  _ Think.  _ He doesn’t know how to sort out what he wants. The idea of marrying for love is what he fought for in the war. His father is gone, who can stop him? The idea of being curled up with Ashe every night is one he’s held close to his heart for a year now.

“I’ll stay.” 

...

When Ashe came to visit Gautier it was for business, technically. Sylvain agreed to give him some advice, and they work through the paperwork and the plans easily enough. They don't talk about Ashe's proposal. They continue with Ashe's work as if he were to be single because, by all means, he is right now. 

When they’re through with their work for the day is when it becomes awkward. If it were any other day Sylvain would offer him tea and they would spend time together. Now he’s uncertain of what to do or say. 

“If you don’t mind… I think I’ll rest,” Ashe says. He smiles at Sylvain. It’s fake. It’s terribly fake. 

Ashe is only in his room for half an hour when Sylvain shows up. He needs to fix this. If Ashe loves him, if he loves Ashe, and there’s no one except himself in the way of it… why wouldn’t Sylvain choose happiness? He thinks he still has time to fix this, but when Ashe is opening the door for him Sylvain can see he’s preparing to leave. 

“Ah,” He says, carefully. “You don’t want to stay another night?” 

"I thought I could beat the storm," Ashe mumbles as an excuse. He looks at the floor. They're both quiet, unsure what to say until Ashe is not. "That… That was a lie. I'm leaving because I've made you uncomfortable. I think I understand why, and it's--" 

“Ashe…” 

“--Hush. It’s alright! Really. I’m so proud of you for everything you’ve already accomplished here, but your marriage is…” 

Is Ashe going to tell him that his marriage is too important to squander? Maybe he is. If he is, it’s because he’s being self-deprecating and acting like he doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as nobility again. He’s going to pack his things and leave that door and convince himself to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t good enough for Sylvain. 

“I’m not good enough for you, Ashe,” Sylvain mumbles instead. Ashe pauses just long enough for a fire to flicker to life in his eyes, but before he can argue Sylvain reaches out for his hand. “But I love you.” Ashe squeezes his hand tighter. Ha, does Sylvain look like he’s thinking about running away? “I don’t think I deserve a happily ever after like in the stories, but if you think I’m part of yours then I’ll do everything I can to make it good. You deserve a happy ending.” 

“So do you,” Ashe almost pouts. “But you don’t have to believe me yet. If… If you marry me I can  _ prove it.  _ Every day, forever.” 

How bold of him to ask a second time. Sylvain said no last night. This time he tries to say yes, but he chokes on the word and he’s reduced to nodding instead. Just because he doesn’t think he deserves something doesn’t mean he can’t have it. He pulls Ashe’s hand up to his cheek and leans into the touch. Ashe smiles again, this time something real and gentle, and he rubs his thumb along Sylvain’s cheek. 

This is a far cry from when this all started, with Sylvain trying to trick Ashe into kissing him by offering to teach him how. Who knew that Ashe would knock down every wall Sylvain had, just for the sake of using the bricks to build a new home with him? “I think your sister would be disappointed if I told you no,” Sylvain mutters. He wishes he could just say yes, but he’s nervous and so a poorly timed joke will have to do. He brings Ashe’s knuckles to his lips.

“I think you’re right about that,” Ashe chuckles quietly, humoring the joke. “But I’m more worried about what you want than what she wants right now.” 

Huh. 

What does Sylvain want? 

It’s always been what does he deserve or what he can’t have. It’s a shame it took him all this time to realize that sometimes people  _ do _ get what they want. “I want you.” 


End file.
